A Different Perspective
by RiddikulusRaven
Summary: The story behind Hermione Granger's relationship with Draco Malfoy isn't what it seems. They were friends before Draco knew Hermione's blood status. But he still wants to be friends, so they make a plan to treat each other as enemies in public and be friends in private. A different perspective changes everything.
1. Pt 1—Prologue: The Malfoys

A/N: Once again, let's get the giant disclaimer out of the way at the beginning here. Not my characters, not my world, not even completely my plot. You'll recognize many scenes as being from the books, but (as the title of the story implies) it's from a different perspective. There will likely be spells and other magical items that I make up (as per Redemption), cause that's my MO.

Okay, so here's a question for you guys (and the only time that I will beg you for reviews, ever): I've originally planned to write this solely from Draco's POV. However, would you be interested in seeing some of Hermione's perspective in regards to these scenes? Cause I could write a whole other book on just her POV if this story were canon. Additionally, I plan for this story to span all seven canon books (and it may quite possibly go further than that). So, would you prefer it all to be here in one story, or do you want seven (or more) separate stories?

Thanks in advance, and I hope you enjoy this new story!

* * *

~ PART I: HOW IT BEGAN ~

* * *

Prologue: The Malfoys

* * *

Draco Malfoy slumped in his chair and folded his arms in a perfect display of pouting. His father, Lucius Malfoy, sat on the other side of the desk, lecturing him about the importance of keeping pure blood pure. At nine-years-old, Draco was almost ridiculously bored by the speech his father was giving him. He'd heard it all before from his grandparents, aunts, and uncles. The entirety of the Black and Malfoy families (except for the odd one here and there) were Blood Supremacists. Draco understood on a basic level that being a pure-blood made him special. It meant that his wizarding ancestry could be traced back to the beginning of magic; no half-bloods or Muggle-borns (or as his father called them, Mudbloods) had diluted the purity of his lineage _at all_.

"Draco, are you listening to me?" his father demanded angrily.

"Yes, Father," Draco answered sullenly.

"Then what did I just say?"

Draco held back his eye roll. "That being pure-blood makes us special. The Malfoys and Blacks are both a part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Any family not included in that registry is insignificant in comparison and should be treated as such."

Lucius nodded. "Very good. We will continue your studies tomorrow. The lesson will be about how primitive Muggles are and the reasons that Mudbloods do not deserve to use magic."

"Yes, Father." Draco stood up and nearly ran from his father's study before he could be called back.

He traversed the seemingly never-ending hallways of Malfoy Manor till he reached his bedroom. He was looking forward to reading his new book about Quidditch. However, Draco's plans for relaxing were dashed when he took note of the stack of books on his bed. He scanned the titles: _Fifty Reasons Why Muggles Should be Eradicated_ ; _Mudbloods and the Threats They Pose to Magical Society_ ; and _Pure-blood: A Detailed Ancestry of the Sacred Twenty-Eight_.

Draco rolled his eyes heavily. He knew his family expected him to have the contents of these books memorized before he started at Hogwarts. He knew it was important because he would be forced to live in a castle with Mudbloods and half-bloods; he would need to know how to recognize them in order to keep from unnecessary association with them.

And yet, there was a part of him that didn't know whether his father was right. Draco had no personal experience with any of the people his family claimed were of unworthy status. He'd never met a Muggle-born himself, and had never been allowed to venture into Muggle London. His parents always Apparated them directly to Diagon Alley whenever they needed to visit. How was he supposed to form his own opinion on these matters if he wasn't allowed to fully study them? Could one even understand an issue in its entirety if all aspects of the issue were not explored?

So, instead of opening one of the books his father expected him to read, Draco called out for his favorite house-elf, Dobby. The little elf appeared in his room with a _crack!_ and bowed low.

"What does Young Master need of Dobby?" he squeaked.

Draco shrugged. "I just wanted to talk, I guess."

"Dobby is glad to talk to Master Draco."

"Do you know anything about Muggles?" Draco asked warily

Dobby shook his head, making his long bat-like ears flap furiously. "No sir, Dobby cannot say, sir. Master has forbidden it."

"But why?" He frowned in annoyance.

Dobby shook his head again. Draco noticed his spindly fingers were twitching toward the fireplace poker.

"Wait, Dobby! Don't! You don't have to tell me!"

"Dobby is grateful, Master Draco," the elf said, sagging in relief.

"Are there any books in the library that would tell me more about Muggles?" Draco asked.

"Dobby does not know, sir." He hung his head. "Dobby cannot read, sir."

"Oh! I didn't know," Draco said. "I could teach you, if you want."

Dobby looked up, a simultaneously wary and excited expression upon his wrinkly face. "Dobby would like that very much, sir. But Dobby does not know if Master would approve."

Draco frowned. "Well, has he specifically forbidden you to learn how?"

"No, sir."

"Then I'll teach you. We'll just have to keep it a secret." He nodded resolutely. "As long as we don't tell Father, you ought to be just fine."

Dobby nodded slowly. "Dobby thinks that might work, sir."

"All right. We'll have to keep lessons for the weekends. Meet me here at seven on Saturday and we'll start. You are excused."

The tiny house-elf nodded and Disapparated.

Draco slumped onto his bed. Teaching Dobby how to read would give him something to do to pass the time, but it certainly wouldn't earn him any respect from his father. Maybe it would be better if he just did as his father wanted. Maybe it would be better if he memorized everything his family expected and simply spouted the information back at them. He shook his head. Of course this was the right choice. How could so many people be wrong, anyway? So Draco reached for the first book in the stack and cracked it open.


	2. Pt 1—Greetings

Chapter Two: Greetings

 _Two years later_

* * *

Draco stood on a footstool, a young witch pinning his new set of Hogwarts robes to the proper height. Only the finest for a Malfoy, his father had said, so his robes were made of high-quality spun wool. He didn't like the material much—it was a bit itchy—but he wasn't going to complain; his father wouldn't appreciate it. Draco sighed impatiently. He wanted to get out of the stupid clothing store and go visit Quality Quidditch Supplies. The new Nimbus Two Thousand had just come out, and he wanted to see it. Just then, Madam Malkin returned to the back room with a black-haired boy in tow. The boy looked to be about Draco's age, so Draco decided to talk to him.

"Hello. Hogwarts, too?"

"Yes," the boy responded as he stepped up onto the next stool over.

Draco smiled. "My father's next door buying my books and Mother's up the street looking at wands. Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms." He paused. "I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow." He smirked, hoping the boy would laugh at his joke.

He didn't.

"Have you got your own broom?" Draco tried.

"No," he said, pushing his round glasses further up his nose.

Hmm. "Play Quidditch at all?"

"No," the boy said again.

That was weird. Draco didn't know many boys his age that didn't play Quidditch. "I do—Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"

"No."

The boy really was rather taciturn, wasn't he? Draco tried again. "Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they? But I know I'll be in Slytherin; all our family have been… Imagine being in Hufflepuff. I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

"Mmm…"

Why was this boy so unwilling to converse with him? Draco was irritated. Quidditch and Sorting were the only things most eleven-year-olds were interested in at the moment! He looked out the window boredly, wishing for something to talk about, when he spotted what was surely to be a hilarious topic of discussion that this boy would join him in.

"I say, look at that man!" Draco said, nodding in the direction he was looking.

There was a huge man standing outside, grinning beneath a tangle of black hair and a gigantic bushy beard. He was holding two ice cream cones.

"That's Hagrid," the boy said. "He works at Hogwarts."

"Oh, I've heard of him!" Draco exclaimed, remembering what his father had told him about the man. "He's a sort of servant, isn't he?"

"He's the gamekeeper." The boy frowned unhappily at him.

"Yes, exactly." That's what a gamekeeper was—a servant. Maybe the boy would be interested in this piece of information his father had given him: "I heard he's a sort of savage—lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed."

"I think he's brilliant," the boy snarled, glaring at Draco furiously.

Draco's eyes widened. "Do you? Why is he with you? Where are your parents?" Now that he thought about it, the boy hadn't had any other adults accompany him. That was odd.

"They're dead."

Great Salazar, this was awkward. "Oh, sorry…" Perhaps it was time to pull out the stuff his father had been drilling into his head since he could walk. Maybe this boy would agree. "…But they were our kind, weren't they?"

"They were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean," the boy clipped.

"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you?" His father would expect him to carry the conversation in this direction, now that he'd brought the topic up. "They're just not the same; they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families."

Draco suddenly realized that he hadn't asked the boy's name…or even given his own. "What's your surname, anyway?" He opened his mouth to introduce himself when Madam Malkin interrupted.

"That's you done, my dear," she said to the bespectacled boy.

He hurriedly hopped from his perch and dashed from the room.

"Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose," Draco muttered in frustration. Stupid grumpy boy and his stupid refusal to have a perfectly normal conversation.

Draco pouted about his own misfortune and boredom. _Why_ was it taking so bloody long for this witch to hem his robes?!

Several minutes later, Madam Malkin returned to the back room, this time with a brown-haired girl. Her hair that was extremely curly and quite bushy; getting hair like that to behave was probably impossible. When the girl saw Draco, she smiled kindly at him, revealing two front teeth that she hadn't quite grown into yet. He thought she was still rather pretty; her warm brown eyes were her best feature.

"Let me just go fetch your robes, sweet, and we'll get those straightened out."

The girl nodded and hopped onto the stool that had been vacated by the black-haired boy. She turned toward Draco and flashed her smile at him again.

"Hello," he said. "I'm Draco." He wouldn't make the same mistake this time around.

"Nice to meet you," the girl replied. "I'm Hermione."

"Are you going to Hogwarts, too?"

She nodded happily. "I'm so excited!"

This was more like it! "Me too. D'you know what house you'll be in yet?"

"Not really; you can't know for sure until you get there, after all."

Draco nodded.

"But I read all about them in _Hogwarts, a History,_ and I think I like Ravenclaw the best. I love to read and learn new things, you see, so it already seems like a place I'd want to be," Hermione continued. "What about you?"

"Father says I'll probably wind up in Slytherin. All my family have been for centuries." He paused for a long time before uttering the words he never thought he'd say. "Sometimes I don't know if it's where I belong, though."

Hermione tilted her head to one side. "Why not? Slytherin seems like a decent house as well."

"Oh, it is," Draco reassured her, "but my father wants me to follow in his footsteps. He followed the Dark Lord before he was destroyed—"

"By Harry Potter!" Hermione chipped in excitedly.

"—Right, by Harry Potter. Anyway, my father wants me to do the same thing, because he thinks the Dark Lord isn't really gone for some reason."

"I read about You-Know-Who, and he was in Slytherin. Is that why you don't like the house?"

Draco shrugged. "I never said I don't like Slytherin."

Hermione nodded. "It's perfectly understandable if you don't, especially since your dad had a tendency to head in the same direction as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

"Right…anyway, can we talk about something else now?"

"Of course," she said quickly. "I'm sorry if I offended you."

He shrugged again. "It's okay; you didn't mean to."

"Have you practiced any spells yet? I've already read every single one of our textbooks—I picked them up last week—and I've tried a few simple ones. They've all worked for me."

"Yeah, I've practiced some spells, but I had to sneak my mother's wand to do it since I don't have my own yet." Draco straightened his shoulders proudly. "My best spell is _Accio_."

Hermione frowned a little. "That one has been giving me some trouble, actually. But my best spell is _Wingardium Leviosa_. Everything I've practiced on has absolutely defied gravity. It's hard to believe it sometimes."

Draco had no idea what she meant by that. "Do you like Quidditch?" he ventured, unsure if girls were as into the sport as boys.

"It seems interesting enough, but I'm afraid of heights. I'd never get on a broom like that; it's too scary."

"Yeah, I guess it's not for everyone. I really want my own broom, though."

Hermione smiled. "I'll bet. Have you done a lot of flying?"

He nodded. "My mother says I've been flying since before I could walk. I don't know if that's true, but it does feel like I've been doing it forever. I love the feeling of freedom."

After a short pause, Hermione thoughtfully said, "Muggle is a funny word."

Draco chuckled. "Yeah, it kind of is."

"Where on earth did it come from?" she asked.

"You don't know?" he asked in surprise. He kind of thought she knew everything.

Hermione just shook her head.

"Well, in the fifteenth century, the wizard Boris Karamatzov began calling people without magic _medwìsa_. But in the eighteenth century, a wizard named Archibald Golightly thought that it was too harsh a term, so he combined it with _gehlyta_ and created Muggle."

Hermione frowned. " _Medwisa_ means 'foolish' and _gehlyta_ is 'companion.' So Muggles are stupid friends?"

Draco laughed. "Maybe back then. I think most magical people use it to mean someone without magic now. I don't think it's meant to be an insult."

"There, all done," the witch at Draco's feet finally announced.

He opened his mouth to say something rude to the woman, but changed his mind when he realized that he never would have met Hermione if the seamstress hadn't worked so slowly. Draco slipped the robe off, and the witch hurried off to duplicate several more of the right length. Madam Malkin also straightened up and patted Hermione on the shoulder.

"You're finished as well."

Hermione thanked her and removed her robe, too.

"So," she said to Draco, "I hope I'll see you at school."

Draco nodded. "Me too."

The two new friends walked with each other to the front of the store—where they paid for their robes—and out into the busy street. They stood there in a silence that grew more awkward by the second.

"I've got to be going," Hermione finally said. "My parents are waiting in the Leaky Cauldron."

"Why?" Draco asked.

She waved a hand. "Oh, they're Muggles, and they had enough of Diagon Alley when we were here before. I told them I could pick up my robes by myself."

Draco quickly put on the mask of indifference that every Malfoy was forced to master before school age. "Oh, okay."

"I'll see you on the train, then," Hermione said before walking down the street.

Draco stared after her for a long time. "Maybe," he eventually muttered.


	3. Pt 1—On the Hogwarts Express

Chapter Three: On the Hogwarts Express

* * *

Draco smiled at his mother tightly while waiting for his father to return from having the house-elves load his trunk onto the scarlet steam engine. Narcissa placed her hands on his shoulders, the only real sign of affection she ever gave him.

"Have a good year at school, Draco. I'll send you a box of sweets first thing in the morning," she said as Lucius walked up beside them.

Draco nodded solemnly as she released him. "Goodbye, Mother."

Lucius placed a strong hand on Draco's right shoulder. "It's time for you to get on the train. Gregory and Vincent are waiting for you in the compartment."

He sighed internally but nodded. "Goodbye, Father."

Draco turned and boarded the train. His two friends—they were really more like cronies or bodyguards; the same kind of relationship existed between his father and theirs—were indeed waiting in the first compartment of the first car. He grunted a hello to them, and received identical greetings from them.

Draco slumped in the seat closest to the window. "D'you think Parkinson is on the train?" he asked them.

Crabbe's head jerked upward like he'd been jolted from a deep sleep. "Who?"

"Pansy Parkinson. The girl that used to always come over when our fathers had meetings," he explained slowly.

"Never heard of her."

"Of course you haven't."

"Draco, I'm hungry," Goyle whined.

"There's nothing I can do about it," Draco snapped.

"You can make the food trolley come faster."

He sneered across the compartment. "You're an idiot, Goyle."

He nodded.

Draco ignored the hulking boys for quite some time, opting instead to stare moodily out the window. By all rights he should have been excited to finally be going to Hogwarts. But there was still the matter of that witch he'd met a month ago. She was so animated and intelligent, and definitely someone Draco wanted to be friends with. But she was also a Mudblood, and that made everything feel topsy-turvy.

Just when he was driving himself insane with the juxtaposition that had become his life, the food trolley arrived. He was grateful for the distraction, and bought a bit of everything (of course knowing that he would end up sharing with Crabbe and Goyle). He spent the next long while stuffing his face greedily.

Several hours into the train ride, the compartment door slid open and a familiar bushy-haired girl stuck her head inside. "Have you seen a toad? Neville's lost one," Hermione said.

Draco looked up at her. "No."

"All right. Holler if you do." She slid the door closed and moved back down the train.

After a brief internal debate, Draco got to his feet and moved to follow Hermione. Both Crabbe and Goyle stood up, preparing themselves to follow him by wiping their messy fingers on their robes. He rolled his eyes but allowed them to accompany him anyway. He went in the direction that Hermione had gone, but she had already vanished. Salazar, that girl was fast.

As he walked past the other compartments, Draco heard repeatedly that Harry Potter was aboard the Hogwarts Express. This was quite intriguing, for Draco's father had often complained about Harry Potter "defeating" the Dark Lord. It was common knowledge at Malfoy Manor that mentioning Potter's name was forbidden, and Draco wanted to befriend the boy just to spite his father. Because regardless of how hard he tried, his father continued to tell him how disappointing he was. If he couldn't make his father proud, then he'd piss him off.

From a few compartments up, Draco heard a boy say something that sounded a bit like a poorly written spell. It rhymed, which wasn't something he'd encountered in all the reading he'd done. Intrigued by the anomaly—and excited to pick a fight—he followed the voice. But he stopped in his tracks when he heard Hermione respond.

"Are you sure that's a real spell? Well, it's not very good, is it? I've tried a few simple spells just for practice and it's all worked for me."

Draco smirked. That was definitely Hermione.

"Nobody in my family's magic at all; it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course. I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard. I've learned all our course books by heart, of course…I just hope it will be enough…I'm Hermione Granger, by the way. Who are you?"

Draco bit back a laugh. She was more excited today than she'd been a month ago in Diagon Alley. She spoke so rapidly that he almost didn't understand her. He took a step forward to catch her attention, only to freeze once more upon hearing the occupants of the compartment begin talking to her.

"I'm Ron Weasley."

Damn. Not a Weasley.

"Harry Potter."

So it _was_ true.

"Are you really?" Hermione asked excitedly. "I know all about you, of course. I got a few extra books for background reading, and you're in _Modern Magical History_ and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_."

Hermione was right once again. Draco had read all of those books as well, and had even discussed bits and pieces of the information with Dobby. The house-elf practically worshipped Harry Potter; it was pretty creepy.

"Am I?" The boy who was clearly Harry Potter sounded overwhelmed for some reason.

"Goodness, didn't you know?" Hermione asked. "I'd have found out everything I could if it was me. Do either of you know what house you'll be in? I've been asking around, and Gryffindor sounds by far the most popular. Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad, though. Anyway, we'd better go and look for Neville's toad. You two had better change, you know. I expect we'll be there soon."

With that, she emerged from the compartment with the toadless boy at her heels, and hurried in the opposite direction. Draco stared after her, torn between following her and sticking his nose into the compartment she'd just left. The latter choice won out, though. Meeting Harry Potter was just too tempting.

Goyle snickered. "Our first Mudblood, Draco."

Draco frowned deeply. Even though Goyle's statement was technically accurate, Draco wasn't sure it truly applied to Hermione. She was obviously skilled at magic, and he had thought sometimes that she deserved to learn more about it. Still, he glanced back at his thugs and smirked.

"Remember her face for later."

Crabbe and Goyle leered in her direction and nodded in reply.

The conversation within Harry Potter's compartment broke through then, and Draco stopped to listen once more.

"Whatever house I'm in, I hope she's not in it." That voice didn't belong to Potter, so it must be Weasley. "Stupid spell. George gave it to me…bet he knew it was a dud."

"What house are your brothers in?" Potter asked.

"Gryffindor," Weasley answered.

It was a well-known fact that all Weasleys wound up in Gryffindor.

"Mum and Dad were in it, too," Weasley continued. "I don't know what they'll say if I'm not. I don't suppose Ravenclaw would be too bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin."

Draco almost snorted aloud at that. The very idea of a Weasley in Slytherin was absurd. The Sorting Hat would certainly never be so stupid as to make that decision. It had to know that if a Weasley were put in that house, he would be dead before sunrise. Slytherins typically hated the Weasleys for being blood traitors.

If there was one thing that Draco had learned and wholeheartedly accepted from his father, it was the unworthiness of the Weasley family. They were a disgrace to the wizard world, and that was hard fact. They were of pure blood, but they had no respect for their wizarding ancestry; it was their _duty_ to at least pass on the pure-blood traditions, and still they ignored all of the old customs. It wasn't a crime to be proud of your lineage, and yet they acted like it was a mortal sin or something.

Draco was drawn out of his thoughts again when the Weasley boy said, "Did you hear about Gringotts? It's been all over the Daily Prophet, but I don't suppose you get that with the Muggles—someone tried to rob a high security vault."

Muggles? Did Potter live with Muggles?

"Really? What happened to them?" Potter asked.

"Nothing. That's why it's such big news. They haven't been caught. My dad says it must've been a powerful Dark wizard to get round Gringotts, but they don't think they took anything. That's what's odd. Course, everyone gets scared when something like this happens in case You-Know-Who's behind it."

Draco scowled. His father had been ecstatic for forty-eight hours, thinking that the Dark Lord had returned. When Lucius's idol didn't show up after that, he quickly lost hope and began spending his days locked in his office, drowning himself in Firewhisky. It made Draco feel sick just thinking about it. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Crabbe poked him in the arm.

"Why are we still standing here?" he asked, scratching at his head.

"Yeah?" Goyle added stupidly.

Draco shrugged. "I like eavesdropping…blackmail, you know?" That wasn't necessarily true, but Crabbe and Goyle didn't need to know that.

"Let's go in, then," Crabbe whined. "I want to see that Potter kid."

Draco raised an eyebrow at that, but led the way into the compartment.

"Is it true?" he asked. "They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment." He looked at the boy that was clearly not a Weasley, and was shocked to see the boy he'd met in Madam Malkin's. His eyes widened a fraction. "So it's you, is it?"

"Yes," Potter replied, looking over Draco's shoulder at the burly boys behind him.

"Oh!" Draco said, remembering his manners. "This is Crabbe, and this is Goyle. And my name's Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

Weasley did a terrible job of hiding a laugh by pretending to have a coughing fit. Draco sneered at him—the imbecile was absolutely infuriating.

"Think my name's funny, do you?" he snapped. "No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford." Draco closed his eyes briefly and took a calming breath before readdressing Potter.

"You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter." It was true; his own father was proof enough that pure blood and money weren't everything. He tried to subtly motion with his eyes to the hulking boys standing on either side of him. For not only were Crabbe and Goyle spectacularly stupid, but they also came from very Dark families. "You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there." He held out his hand to shake Potter's, thinking perhaps they could start over.

Instead, Potter stared at him, a cold look in his eyes. "I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks."

Draco flushed. Apparently this high-and-mighty boy seemed intent on misinterpreting every word out of his mouth. A sudden intense hatred swept over him, and he narrowed his eyes. He decided to hit Potter where it would hurt the most.

"I'd be careful if I were you, Potter," he drawled. "Unless you're a bit politer, you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them either." His gaze flickered back to Weasley, and his scowl deepened. "You hang around with riffraff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid, and it'll rub off on you."

Both boys jumped up from their seats.

"Say that again," Weasley snarled, red-faced.

"Oh, you're going to fight us, are you?" Draco asked with one eyebrow raised.

"Unless you get out now," Potter chimed in.

Draco wanted to roll his eyes. Three against two—as if those two scrawny gits would stand a chance against Crabbe and Goyle.

"But we don't feel like leaving, do we, boys?" he asked his friends. "We've eaten all our food and you still seem to have some." He wanted to taunt these two self-righteous jerks until they snapped.

Goyle reached down for one of the Chocolate Frogs on the seat by the door. Weasley jumped forward, but was intercepted by, of all things, his ugly rat. It bit down into Goyle's finger. Draco backed away, and Crabbe did the same. Meanwhile, Goyle shouted and shook his hand furiously, trying to dislodge the creature. It probably had rabies, and now Goyle would die a horrible death. Finally the rat lost its grip and flew with a loud _smack!_ into the window. Draco spun around and raced back down the train car to his compartment, Crabbe and Goyle lumbering along after him. He didn't notice Hermione reappear and stick her head back into Potter and Weasley's compartment.

Draco didn't think he'd hated anyone as much as he hated those two right now. How dare they treat him like that? What had he done to make them think he was so awful? Stupid Harry Potter and his stupid self-righteous attitude.

* * *

A/N: So I feel like in this chapter and the next few Draco is falling to OOC. What do you guys think? Still enough of that git that we love to hate? Let me know! *throws shiny heart confetti everywhere*


	4. Pt 1—Making a Decision

A/N: I know it's been a while since my last update, and I love each of you for being patient with me. I've spent a lot of time reworking this chapter repeatedly to keep Draco in character. I hope you enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Four: Making a Decision

* * *

Draco spent the rest of the journey to Hogwarts feeling sorry for himself. He stared out the window angrily until the train pulled in at Hogsmeade Station. His night didn't improve from there. Not one bit.

The first years all had to wait for what felt like an hour before even being led into the Great Hall. McGonagall read the students' names off the list so slowly that Draco was certain the term would be over before she'd finished. He tapped his foot impatiently as nearly a dozen students were Sorted.

When Hermione's name was called, however, he straightened up and listened attentively. The Sorting Hat spent several minutes in silence; Hermione was quaking like a leaf on the four-legged stool. Finally, the rip near the brim of the hat opened wide—the hat seemed to take a deep breath—and it announced her new house.

"Gryffindor!"

Draco sighed heavily and stared at the floor. He scuffed his shoe back and forth on the stone floor. There was absolutely no way he'd be placed in Gryffindor—and even if by some miracle he was, his father would pull him from school and have him enrolled at Durmstrang before he could say Quidditch. He supposed Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad, but he really didn't want to be in that house if Hermione wasn't in it.

A few short minutes later, his name was called. Draco straightened his shoulders, lifted his chin proudly, and positively swaggered to the stool. He sat down, and McGonagall lowered the hat. Before it even reached his forehead, it had made its decision.

"Slytherin!"

Draco was almost disappointed, but he hid it behind his cocky façade. The stupid hat hadn't even taken the time to poke around inside his head. The Slytherins cheered, though, which made him feel a bit better. He strutted over to the Slytherin table and sat in between Crabbe and Goyle. He folded his arms and tuned out the rest of the ceremony.

Hermione had been put into Gryffindor. Now they weren't just separated by blood status—they were in rival houses at school. Draco remembered earlier on the train how friendly Hermione had seemed with Potter and Weasley. His mood soured even further when the thought struck him that Hermione and the two gits would become great friends because they were all in the same house. He decided as he stared at his empty goblet that he would hate Potter and Weasley for life. That made him feel a bit better, too.

The rest of the night was uneventful. Draco and the other first year Slytherins were led to their dungeon common room by their house prefect, then directed to a narrow hallway that led to dozens of bedrooms. He noticed that the older years eventually got to have their own rooms, and he envied them. He didn't want to have to share a dorm with Crabbe and Goyle for four years. Still feeling completely miserable, Draco fell into a restless sleep long after everyone else in his dormitory had gone to bed.

He spent the first few days of school getting used to his schedule and finding his way around the maze they called a school. He hadn't gotten lost so far, no thanks to Crabbe and Goyle. If they hadn't been following him everywhere, he was sure they would've fallen into a trick stair or something and never been found. Not that he would have necessarily minded if that did happen.

Draco had caught Hermione's gaze a couple of times since classes started, but they'd never had the opportunity to speak. He knew what it would look like if he just walked up to her and initiated a friendly conversation. Someone would be sure to report it back to his father, and then he'd be in a world of trouble. But he still wanted to talk to Hermione. He wondered if they could be pen pals or something.

So, before the rest of his dorm mates woke up on that first Friday morning, Draco grabbed a quill and some parchment.

 _Hermione,_

 _Can we meet somewhere to talk? There are some things I need to tell you. How about the abandoned classroom across from Potions? Right after dinner? Let me know._

 _Draco_

He sent the note off with his young eagle owl just as Crabbe and Goyle grumbled and rolled out of bed. Crabbe sniffed his armpit, and apparently decided he smelled decent, because he shuffled out of the dormitory without changing clothes. Goyle picked at a wedgie, then did the same. Draco sneered in disgust at the two goons. They certainly were a close second when it came to disgracing the wizarding world.

Today was the first Potions lesson of the term...and it was a two hour block with the Gryffindors. Even though that meant Hermione would be there, Draco wasn't looking forward to it. He couldn't be her friend, and seeing her only reminded him of that fact. He left his dormitory in a sour mood, one that didn't improve over the course of the day.

Down in the dungeons, waiting at a desk with Crabbe and Goyle on either side of him, Draco shivered. It was absurdly freezing in this room, and he had the distinct feeling that Professor Snape never used the fireplace at the back of the classroom. Most people would likely find the room creepy, too. All of the walls were lined with wooden shelves, and all of the shelves were full of glass jars; inside the glass jars were random pickled animals, bits of bugs, and an assortment of other disgusting things Draco didn't care to name. But because he'd always had an interest in Potions, it didn't gross him out nearly as much as it did his house-mate, Pansy Parkinson. She took one look at the dark interior of the room, let out a sort of squeal, and ran away looking as if she were about to wet herself.

The room slowly filled with students, and at precisely nine o'clock, Professor Snape stood up and began taking roll call. He gave Draco a small smile when he called out his name and continued down the list...but then he paused.

"Ah, yes. Harry Potter. Our new...celebrity."

The obvious disdain and heavy sarcasm in Snape's voice made mentioning Potter—yet again—quite the joke. Draco snickered and covered his mouth with his hand, but he wasn't really trying to hide his laughter. Crabbe and Goyle joined in, even though it was almost certain that they had no idea what was so funny. Snape finished the roll call without further incident, and then the introduction to the class began.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," Professor Snape started. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here—" He sneered slightly in Potter's direction. "—many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses…"

Snape looked over at Draco, and the expression on his face was easy for Draco to interpret. It clearly meant that Draco was not included in Snape's assessment of the students in the class. Draco was proud that he was held in such a high esteem. Professor Snape was his godfather; there had been many times when he had been left in his godfather's care, and they had spent the hours together working on making various potions. It turned out that Draco really had a knack for it.

"I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death—if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach," Snape finished.

The classroom was deathly silent for a long moment. Draco glanced around and noticed that Hermione was perched on the edge of her chair, soaking up Snape's every word.

"Potter!" Snape abruptly shouted, making almost everyone in the room jump. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Draco knew the answer: Draught of Living Death.

Potter looked at Weasley, and Hermione's hand shot high into the air.

"I don't know, sir," Potter mumbled.

"Tut, tut—fame clearly isn't everything," Snape said, sneering meanly.

Hermione's hand quivered, but Snape ignored it. Draco chuckled again, but managed to stifle the sound.

"Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Judging by the look on Potter's face, this was about to get even more hilarious. Draco tried to contain his laughter at Potter's obvious stupidity, but it was difficult and he wound up shaking with the effort.

"I don't know, sir," Potter muttered.

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?" Snape sneered.

Draco's laughter redoubled.

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Hermione actually stood up and waved her hand. Draco grimaced; that wouldn't go over well with Snape at all.

"I don't know," Potter nearly whispered. "I think Hermione does, though. Why don't you try her?"

Draco was almost impressed with Potter's audacity, but he refused to laugh along with the Gryffindors in the room. Stupid blood traitors, the lot of them. Snape's gaze finally swiveled to Hermione, and his eyes narrowed.

"Sit down," he clipped. "For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite." He paused and stared around the classroom. "Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

As the class began hurriedly pulling out parchment and quills, Snape glared at Potter, then said, "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter."

Excellent.

Snape waved his wand, and a piece of chalk began writing ingredients and instructions on the blackboard. "Follow this to the letter. You will find all of the ingredients you need in the cupboard, labeled very precisely. Do try not to screw this up."

The potion was a Cure for Boils. Easy enough; Draco had successfully brewed that one when he was eight. Snape put the entire class into pairs. Unfortunately, he was teamed up with Goyle; the boy was dumber than a troll. Not much more communicative, either. No matter. Draco would just do all of the work. Goyle stood at his side rather stupidly and clearly at a loss as to what to do.

"Read me the instructions off the board, Goyle," Draco commanded.

He didn't need the instructions—he had memorized the steps ages ago—but at least it gave Goyle something to do that would keep him out of trouble. Goyle slowly and laboriously read the first step aloud. Draco pretended to listen, and then began weighing the dried nettles. He was on step two, crushing the snake fangs, before Goyle had even begun speaking.

Snape patrolled the classroom, making sure to criticize and insult everyone along the way. When he approached Draco's table, however, he did the exact opposite. After a quick glance into Draco's cauldron, Snape straightened up and addressed the classroom.

"See here: look at how perfectly Malfoy has stewed his horned slugs. They are perfectly caramelized—"

A huge puff of acid green smoke filled the classroom, accompanied by a loud hissing. Draco looked across the room to where two Gryffindor boys were standing. Between them stood the remains of what used to be a cauldron. It was now a twisted blob of metal, somewhat resembling the giant squid. The ruined potion was expanding across the classroom, burning holes in the shoes of the students unfortunate enough to be in the proximity. All of the Gryffindors began clambering onto their stools.

"Idiot boy!" Snape shouted. He waved his wand and cleared away the noxious potion. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"

One of the two boys had been soaked in the potion, and his skin was erupting in angry red boils. Snape glared at the other one.

"Take him up to the hospital wing."

Draco was about to return to his work when Snape spun around and sneered at Potter and Weasley. "You—Potter—why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost for Gryffindor."

Draco snickered again. Maybe today would get better after all.

* * *

In some ways, the day got both better and worse. After the spectacle Potter had made in Potions, the rest of the day was dull. Lunch went by without any further incident, and then the Gryffindors went their separate way while the Slytherins were bustled off to History of Magic. Initially, Draco had been excited for this class—perhaps a new take on the wizarding world would help him straighten out the conflict his father incited in him—but Professor Binns was a complete joke. He spoke in the most dreadful monotone, and was essentially just listing names and dates—useless facts that really had no bearing on wizarding culture in the slightest.

That class definitely soured his mood once again.

When it was finally time for dinner, Draco couldn't force himself to eat anything. He sat at the table, picking a roll to pieces. He was equal parts anxious and excited to finally get to talk to Hermione again. He looked over at the Gryffindor table and noticed that Hermione was sitting alone at the very end. Her chin rested on her fist, and she looked rather miserable. After a second, she glanced up and met his gaze. Draco carefully motioned toward the double doors with his head and was pleased to see that she responded with a small nod.

"I've got some things to do," he said to Crabbe and Goyle. "Don't wait up for me."

They nodded at him, still stuffing their faces, and he stood up to leave. A couple of his other classmates looked at him as he left the Great Hall. He continued into the dungeons without looking back; he knew Hermione would follow him. He only waited a couple of minutes before she knocked quietly on the classroom door.

"Hey," Draco said as she entered the room.

"Hi." She looked at the floor.

"What's wrong?"

Hermione sniffed and met his gaze. "Everybody in my house hates me."

Almost instinctively, this statement infuriated him."Don't let them get to you. You're worth more than all of them put together," he practically spit out. Continuing to follow his instinct, Draco pulled her into a hug. She rested her head on his shoulder for the tiniest moment, then pulled away.

"So," she said, wiping away a stray tear, "what was it you needed to tell me?"

Reality came crashing back down around him at her words. They couldn't be friends. She was a Mudblood. He was a Pureblood. All association was forbidden. Draco sat heavily on a chair.

"I...I can't be your friend," he whispered.

Hermione watched him with her head slightly tilted. "I get the feeling that there's more."

He nodded. "You haven't been a part of the wizarding world long enough to know it yet, but there are some people that think they are better than others."

Understanding dawned across her face. "Your father is one of them, isn't he?"

"My whole family," he admitted. "And they all expect me to swallow their propaganda without question. Part of that has to do with blood."

"Blood?"

"Yeah. Like how far back your wizarding ancestry goes. People like me, who can trace our ancestry back to pretty much the beginning of time, are called Pureblood. People like Potter who have one Pureblood parent and one that isn't are called half-blood."

Hermione frowned and sat down next to him. "And people like me?"

"Civil people call people like you Muggle-born. People like my father choose otherwise." Draco dropped his head into his hands. No, his day was definitely not looking up.

"What does he call people like me?" she whispered.

He gulped. "I don't want to say it."

"I know you don't mean it, Draco. Just tell me." Hermione placed a hand on his shoulder.

He looked up. "Mudblood. My father would call you a Mudblood."

"Meaning my blood is dirty, right?"

Draco nodded again. "But only because you don't have any wizarding ancestry."

After a very long pause, Hermione said, "So you can't be my friend because of your family? Is that right?"

"My father would kill me if he knew. And, to be honest, I think he's got a good point about a lot of it." At her skeptical look, he hastily added, "Not about you, though! You're obviously an exception, but still…"

Hermione didn't seem pleased with his comment. "But what?" she snapped. "Everyone else like me is dirt?"

This wasn't going well. "No...I mean yes, but…it's not that simple." Draco took a deep breath. "I don't know if my father is right about how Muggle-borns should be treated, but I do think that there's something missing with them."

"Like what?" She glared at him fiercely.

"Well, like...there are a lot of customs and traditions that go back centuries that you've not been raised to know, and likely will never understand. Wizarding culture is being lost because of that."

A few moments later, she quietly asked, "Do you think I'm worth less than you?"

Draco shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. I really liked talking to you back in Diagon Alley, and I think you're really smart, but I just...I can't be your friend like I want to."

"But what if you could be my friend?"

"There's no point in wondering, because I never will be able to!" he exclaimed angrily.

The next several minutes were spent deep in thought. And then Hermione blurted, "I've got it! We'll just be friends in secret. Nobody has to know but you and me."

Draco shook his head. "How would we even manage that?"

"We'll just have to find somewhere in the castle that nobody goes to and meet up there."

"Don't get me wrong—I want to be your friend—but it's just not possible."

"It is if you're willing to try," Hermione reasoned.

Draco gave her a tiny smile. "It wouldn't hurt to try, I guess."

She grinned happily. "Now all that's left is to decide how often we'll meet."

"Right. Once a week, maybe?"

"I'm good with that. And if you want to see me more than that, you can always send me another note like you did this morning." Hermione nodded as she thought through her plan.

"You can do the same thing, you know. If you want to see me more, that is." Draco rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably at his declaration.

"So what day do we want to meet?"

"Er...what about Sunday mornings? For a few hours before breakfast?" Draco jiggled his left foot nervously.

"Yeah. That sounds good. Should we just meet here for now?"

Draco shook his head. "No, it's too close to the Slytherin dormitories. Let's both look around the castle for somewhere. We'll meet back here on Sunday and discuss possible options."

"Okay."

"See you on Sunday, then."


	5. Pt 1—Refuge

Chapter Five: Refuge

* * *

Hermione knew she was overly excited about everything going on at Hogwarts. She was trying too hard to be the smartest, the best, and every teacher's favorite student. But she also felt like she was justified, especially after what Draco had told her yesterday. Plenty of people in the wizarding world were going to see her as inferior, so she did have something to prove. And Merlin be damned if she wasn't going to prove it.

As she slowly ate her breakfast, still sitting alone at the end of Gryffindor table, she felt a bit hopeful that maybe everyone wouldn't hate her in the long run. Right now most people viewed her as a swotty know-it-all—and she was, she knew, but she wanted people to see past that and like her as a normal eleven-year-old witch. She definitely didn't want to spend her birthday in a little less than two weeks all by herself, but at the rate she was going, it seemed that's how things would go in the friend department.

Except for with Draco. He was the one person that so far had made her feel like she wasn't just an annoying girl in a room full of people. And while she was still conflicted over everything he'd told her about blood status, she did want to be his friend. He seemed to have a lot of hard things to deal with, too. Hermione could tell just from the little bits he'd revealed about his family that his home life was anything but relaxing. She wondered if Draco had been hoping school would be some sort of vacation from his real life, but she hoped that it wasn't as bad as that.

After she finished eating, Hermione began the long walk back to Gryffindor tower. She planned on going to the library to get a head start on some of the homework that had been assigned over the last week. She hurriedly retrieved her bag, then started looking for the library. She had yet to actually visit that particular section of the castle, so she only had a vague reference to where it might be.

And somehow, along the way, she wound up lost somewhere on the seventh floor. Hermione couldn't even find the staircase to descend to a lower level of the school. She tugged uselessly on her wild hair. Where in Godric's name was she? The only point of reference was an ugly tapestry of some guy trying to teach trolls how to dance, and she knew she'd never seen it before now.

Hermione leaned her head back against the hideous tapestry and sighed in frustration. When she removed her gaze from the ceiling, there was a door along the opposite wall. She looked up and down the corridor, but there was nobody else in sight. It was weird. There hadn't been a door there when she first arrived in the area. She was horribly confused.

Cautiously, she approached the door and tugged it open. The room wasn't very large; in fact, it was more of a broom closet. There was barely anything inside the room, either. There was a notice board with two sheets of parchment tacked to it. One was a miniature map of the castle. The other seemed to be some kind of instructions.

Hermione pulled it down and read:

 _Welcome to the Room of Requirement! You have found this room because you were in the right spot just as you were feeling desperate to find something. Whatever that may be, you will be able to find in here. All you have to do is think about it very clearly, and it will materialize. There are, however, some stipulations to how the magic of this room will work now that you have stumbled across it for the first time._

 _1\. In order to re-enter the room, you must walk past the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy three times while you think of what kind of room you need. The more specific you are in your request, the better the room will suit your needs._

 _2\. You cannot ask for any kind of food or drink (see Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration and its exceptions)._

 _3\. Time runs a bit differently in here, so be sure to keep track of it some other way._

Hermione grinned happily when she finished reading the note. She may not have found the library, but she had definitely found a great place to meet. She looked once again at the small map tacked to the notice board. There was a little arrow on it labeled "you are here." She followed some of the lines until she saw a large space that was labeled as the library. Hermione happily memorized the route there, then began her journey with the note about the Room of Requirement tucked safely in her robe pocket.

She found the library easily after seeing that map, but she couldn't focus much on homework. She was just too excited to show Draco the Room of Requirement. Still, Hermione spent most of the day at a secluded table in the library, trying to read a book.

When it was finally time for dinner, Hermione practically ran to the Great Hall. She peeked inside and was pleased to see that Draco hadn't yet arrived. She pulled out her book and pretended to be reading it while she waited for him to exit the dungeons.

A scant few minutes later, Draco and his cronies appeared in the entrance hall. Hermione looked up and met his gaze briefly. She widened her eyes and made a small motion with her head. Draco raised his eyebrows in return, then entered the Great Hall. Hermione waited, and Draco reappeared after having made his excuses.

"I know it's not Sunday yet, but I found the perfect spot and I just couldn't wait—"

"Shhh!" Draco said hastily.

Hermione's mouth snapped shut.

"Follow me."

Draco then looked both ways before leading her up the Grand Staircase and into a remote hallway. After double checking that nobody else was around, he entered a bathroom that was out of order. Hermione raised her eyebrows curiously, but followed him inside anyway.

"I'm sorry about that," he said as soon as the door had swung shut behind her. "I just have to be careful, you know?"

Hermione pursed her lips unhappily but nodded. "I'm sorry too. I just got so excited."

"About what?"

She couldn't help the grin that was resurfacing; she may have been upset at how Draco had just treated her, but her excitement over finding the Room of Requirement was overwhelming all other emotions. "I found the perfect meeting spot for Sundays."

"Where at?"

Instead of responding, she thrust the note at him. His brow furrowed as he read it over. When he was finished, he looked up at her, his brow still quizzical.

"What does this mean, exactly?" Draco asked as he handed the note back.

"It's this hidden room on the seventh floor," Hermione replied quickly. "I got lost on my way to the library earlier, and this door appeared in the wall. I found this inside."

"Show me."

Her grin widened. "Right now?"

Draco shrugged. "Everyone's at dinner right now. Who's gonna know?"

"Great." After a pause she added, "Should we go together, or should we meet up?"

"Good point," he muttered with a frown. "You said the room is on the seventh floor?"

Hermione nodded.

"Okay, what if we meet right by the staircase?"

"I'll leave a few bits of parchment in the direction you need to go, just to make sure that nobody sees."

"All right. I'll head up in a few minutes."

She smiled widely again before sprinting out of the bathroom. It took her half the time it normally did to reach the seventh floor; she was so excited that she'd run the entire way there. She pulled out an unused piece of parchment and tore a corner off of it, then set it next to the stairs. A few more steps to the left she did the same thing, and again a bit further along until she reached the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy.

Hermione waited about five minutes before Draco finally appeared around the corner. When he reached her, he looked at her like _she_ was barmy, rather than the man in the tapestry. She sighed and pointed at the opposite wall.

"The instructions say to walk past this spot three times while thinking about what kind of room we need."

"We should think about the same thing, then, right?" Draco asked.

"Probably, yeah." Hermione nodded. "Good point. Do you have something in mind?"

He shrugged. "What about 'a room to meet my friend in secretly?'"

"Yeah, that's good. Let's do it."

Unexpectedly, Draco took her hand before they began their walk in front of the wall. Hermione was confused, but pleased at the gesture. It made her feel far more confident that he meant it when he said he wanted to be her friend. It also made her wonder what might happen in the future. At the moment, though, she didn't have an interest in dating, so that didn't matter. She was just happy to have a friend, even if it was in secret.

And then a door popped into existence before their very eyes. Draco jumped forward and wrenched it open. The room inside was vastly different from the tiny closet Hermione had visited earlier. Instead it housed a cozy sitting room. There was a fireplace with a cheerful fire crackling inside it along the far wall. In front of that was a sofa. Along the surrounding walls there were dozens of bookshelves crammed with all sorts of books, both wizarding and Muggle. And beneath an enchanted window on the left wall was a small study table with two matching chairs.

Hermione gasped in pleasure at the sight. "This is perfect, Draco!"

He nodded. "Yeah."

After a moment, Hermione's shoulders slumped. "But you really ought to get back to dinner. Your other friends will wonder where you've gone."

"Right," Draco sighed. "Well, I guess I'll see you here tomorrow, then."

"Yeah, definitely." She quickly hugged him, then watched somewhat sadly as he turned and left.

Once he was out of sight, she decided that she would be much happier surrounded by the books inside the Room of Requirement than she would be at dinner or in the common room, so she entered the room and closed the door.

Considering how late it was when she showed Draco the Room of Requirement, the rest of the day passed unbearably slowly for Hermione. She managed to distract herself with reading for an hour or so, and then tried to get some homework done, but she was too wound up. She just knew she wouldn't be getting any sleep that night. But as soon as that thought crossed her mind, a movement in the furthest left corner of the room caught her eye.

A small four-poster bed had popped into existence up against the wall, with a nightstand beside it. On top of the nightstand was a small vial. Hermione walked over and picked up the glass bottle to read the label. _Dreamless Sleep_. Well, it seemed like the name was rather self-explanatory.

Hermione pulled out her wand and murmured, " _Tempus_." A bright red number flashed to life in front of her: 21:47.

Well, it was a bit early to turn in, but she felt so restless that it seemed a good option to take regardless. With a quickly uttered, " _Recens Vesti_ ," her school robes were switched out for her nightdress, and she settled into the comfortable bed. Hermione quickly gulped down the potion—it tasted of old licorice—and was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

OoOoO

"Hermione!"

Draco had been surprised, to say the least, when he found Hermione tucked into a bed in the corner of their meeting room. He walked over to her and gently shook her shoulder. She groaned and pushed his hand away without opening her eyes.

"Hermione!" he tried again.

Slowly, she rolled over and her eyes opened sleepily. "Mmm...Draco?" she murmured.

"Were you here all night?" Draco asked her incredulously.

She blinked rapidly and stared around the room. "Yeah, I guess I was," she muttered, sleep still thick in her voice.

"Why?"

"I—I couldn't sleep," she said as she pushed herself into a sitting position. She looked down at her nightdress, blushed a violent shade of red, and pulled the comforter up to cover herself. "I was thinking about how I wouldn't be able to sleep because I was so wound up, and then this bed appeared with a potion called Dreamless Sleep."

Draco nodded. "Well, this is the Room of Requirement," he rationalized.

Hermione tilted her head and gave him a confused look. "It's morning already?"

He snorted. "Yeah, Hermione. It's morning."

"Sorry. I didn't think I'd sleep so late, but that potion is pretty strong," she said abashedly.

"It's okay." Draco shrugged. "I brought some breakfast with me."

"You did?"

He nodded again. "I didn't really want to wait to eat."

"You know you'll have to do a really thorough job of being mean to me when we're not alone after doing nice things like this," she joked.

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, I'll have to do that anyway."

Hermione slid out of bed and quickly used the spell to change her clothes again. Then she went over to Draco and placed a gentle hand on his arm. "You know I won't take offense, right?"

"You say that now," he muttered.

"I'll pretend to," she insisted, "but I really won't be mad, I promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before walking over to the table. "How about we just eat instead of arguing."

Draco nodded. "Yeah."

He joined her at the table before lifting his schoolbag and pulling out several slices of toast wrapped in a napkin, two juicy-looking apples, another napkin full of sausages, and two corked flasks of ice-cold pumpkin juice. He divvied out portions, then set about eating his meal in taciturn silence.

"Tell me about your week," Hermione finally said.

Draco sighed and met her gaze. "It was nothing special."

She fixed him with a stern glare. "I noticed you laughing at Harry Potter in Potions the other day."

"Yeah, well, he's an idiot," he snapped.

"I didn't say I was angry," she replied defensively.

"Do we have to talk about him?" Draco asked petulantly.

Hermione frowned. "What happened to make you hate him so much?"

He sighed again. "I introduced myself on the train and tried to befriend him. He insulted me and then refused."

"Oh." Her brow furrowed. "He does seem a bit standoffish sometimes," she conceded. "But I don't know if he does it on purpose."

"Maybe not to you," Draco scoffed. "But I can guarantee you he'll act that way on purpose around me."

"But why?"

"We first met in Madam Malkin's—before you came in—and I didn't leave him with the best first impression. Potter doesn't seem the type to allow me another chance, if you know what I mean."

Hermione nodded. "He does seem to hate Slytherin house, but I don't really talk to him much."

Draco found he was far more relieved at her statement than he should have been. "You don't? Why not?"

"He and Ron Weasley think I'm a swot; I overheard them saying so in the common room a few days ago." She frowned deeply at her admission.

"Just because you know a lot doesn't mean you're a swot," he said angrily. "I meant what I told you on Friday: you're better than all of Gryffindor house put together." He folded his arms as if that further proved his point.

Hermione smiled shyly. "Thanks, Draco. You're my best friend, you know."

His eyes widened and he fought back the blush that was threatening to appear. "I—well, okay. Yeah."

"It's okay to have a friend," she laughed.

"But how do you know I'm your _best_ friend?" he persisted. "You barely know me!"

She shrugged. "But I still know you better than anyone else in school."

"I guess that makes sense," he conceded.

"Yeah, it does."


	6. Pt 1—Broomsticks, Boasting, & Bushwhacks

A/N: Once again, I apologize for the wretchedly long wait I have imposed upon all of you. This time it was legitimately because grad school got very busy for finals. And I may or may not be obsessed with a Harry Potter server on Minecraft. Shhh, don't tell. ;) I'm _also_ in the process of looking for a job because I graduate in August and need something so I can start paying back my mountain of student loans. In conclusion, pray for me. XD

* * *

Chapter Six: Broomsticks, Boasting, and Bushwhacks

* * *

Monday dawned bright, clear, and far more hopeful for Draco than the previous week had been combined. He allowed himself one happy grin behind the privacy of his four-poster's curtains before settling his infamous Malfoy smirk into place and getting out of bed. It was only three full days before the first flying lesson of the term, and it was that thought alone that would sustain him through the week.

When Crabbe and Goyle finally hauled their lazy carcasses out of bed, he led them to the Great Hall for breakfast. As they loaded their plates, Draco began telling them about some of his greatest feats on a broomstick.

"So, this one time," he started, "I flew too high and left the Manor's wards."

Crabbe looked at him with wide eyes. "What happened?"

"I just kept flying. I mean, it's not like we live near anyone else, right? Anyway, I was flying over the fields and forests, just having a great time. I was practising the Wronski Feint, and I had just figured out how to do this corkscrew turn. I must've looked like a bird, the way I was flying."

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco noticed Potter and Weasley walking into the Great Hall. He raised his voice and continued.

"So I hadn't counted on Muggles being out sightseeing, you see. I nearly ran into the blades of a Muggle helicopter."

"What's that?" Goyle asked.

"It's how Muggles fly, Goyle. Pay attention. Anyway, I immediately turned around and headed back for home, but the Muggles were following me! They chased me all the way back to the Manor's wards! Fortunately, the wards include a cloaking spell and Notice-Me-Not, so the Muggles just turned around and flew away."

"Oh, wow, Draco," Pansy Parkinson cooed as she slid closer to him on the bench. "You're so brave."

Draco lifted his chin and smirked, preening under the girl's attention. "Yes, well, we all know how dangerous Muggles can be. I'm lucky I escaped with my life."

"Malfoy, is it true?" A large sixth year boy stopped across the table from him on his way out the door. "You can fly?"

"Yeah, Flint. It's true. I'm an excellent flyer. I've been practicing to be a Seeker since before I could walk." He examined the nails on his right hand in a show of nonchalance. "It's completely unfair that first years can't get on the house Quidditch teams; we'd certainly win the cup this year if I could."

Marcus Flint nodded his head. "Well, try out next year for sure. I'll keep my eye on you."

Draco's smirk widened. "Well, at least I'll be on the team next year," he gloated.

* * *

Thursday couldn't come fast enough. The week seemed to crawl by, but the actual day of their first flying lesson was by far slower for Draco than the previous week combined. Breakfast alone seemed to take at least a day to finish. When he had finally had enough of sitting at the Slytherin table, he got up to leave.

"...you've forgotten something…"

Draco's head swiveled toward the Gryffindor table where he had heard Neville Longbottom speaking rather forlornly. With glee, he looked at the thing Longbottom held in his hand. A Remembrall. Without stopping to think about what he was doing, he stalked over and snatched the ball from the pudgy boy. Both Potter and Weasley hurriedly stood up; Hermione just gave him a disapproving look. Before he could hand the Remembrall back to Longbottom, someone spoke from behind him.

"What's going on?"

"Malfoy's got my Remembrall," Longbottom tattled.

Draco scowled and nearly slammed the ball back onto the table. "Just looking," he grumbled as he slunk away.

The rest of the day wasn't any better. Classes were unbearably slow; every minute that ticked by seemed to take an eternity. When their last class—Defense Against the Dark Arts—was over, Draco practically ran outside to the Quidditch pitch where the lesson would be held. He was the first one there, along with Crabbe and Goyle (who continued to follow him around like sheep). There were two neat rows of broomsticks, twenty in total. It was both a good and a bad thing that his flying lessons would be shared with the Gryffindors. Good because he would finally get to show up Potter and impress Hermione. Bad because Potter and Weasley would be there in general. Still, it was a minor enough problem that he didn't let it bother him.

Hermione arrived almost last, looking white as a sheet and shaking uncontrollably. It was only then that Draco remembered that she was afraid of heights. Well, then. Obviously anything he did on his broomstick wouldn't be received with admiration on her part. He scowled at the grass. Fine. If he couldn't be admired, then he would just fall back on his typical arse-like demeanor.

And then Madam Hooch was walking onto the pitch, looking as stern as Draco had been told she was. She took one look at the twenty first years surrounding her, then shouted, "Well, what are you all waiting for? Everyone stand by a broomstick! Come on, hurry up."

Draco had already selected the nicest-looking broom on the field and was standing beside it. He waited impatiently for the rest of his classmates to follow directions.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," Madam Hooch barked, "and say 'Up!'"

Draco put out his right hand and murmured, "Up." The broom leapt into his hand immediately. He noticed sourly that Potter's broom did the same.

Hermione's rolled over halfheartedly. That was probably because she didn't really want the broom to work. Draco chuckled to himself. Brooms, much like wands, could sense a person's emotions; in a lot of ways, the broom also chose the wizard. Madam Hooch proceeded to show the first years how to mount their brooms. Draco rolled his eyes, having already mounted his, too.

Unfortunately, as Madam Hooch walked among the students and helped them with their grips, she clucked her tongue at him. "Oh, dear. That's not right at all. Here, let me show you—"

"No!" Draco snapped. "I've always held it like this! I'm fine!"

"Well, then you've been doing it wrong for years. Move your right hand up just a tad and tilt your wrist. There, like that. Hold the broom like that, young man." Then she walked away.

Across from him, Draco scowled at a laughing Potter and Weasley. Those twats knew nothing. How dare they laugh at him!

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," Madam Hooch finally said after checking the last student's grip. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle—three—two—"

Before Draco could even prepare himself to kick off, Longbottom had launched himself into the air, and was shooting straight up.

"Come back, boy!" Madam Hooch shouted.

Somehow, it seemed that Longbottom had lost control of the ancient broom the school had provided. About twenty feet into the air, Longbottom looked down, then slipped off his broom and fell to the ground with a sickening crack. The broomstick continued to rise higher, unaware that its passenger had been lost.

Draco rolled his eyes again. So much for a good first flying lesson.

"Broken wrist," Madam Hooch announced from where she crouched beside Longbottom. "Come on boy—it's all right, up you get." She eyed the rest of the students with a hawk-like glare. "None of you is to move while I take this boy to the Hospital Wing! You leave those brooms where they are, or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.'" She turned back to Longbottom. "Come on, dear."

Draco busted up laughing. "Did you see his face, the great lump?" he snickered, indicating Longbottom's retreating figure.

Crabbe, Goyle, and Parkinson began laughing with him.

"Shut up, Malfoy!" snapped a girl from Gryffindor. Draco didn't care who she was.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" Parkinson taunted. "Never thought _you'd_ like fat little cry-babies, Parvati."

Draco, who had let his attention wander, suddenly jumped forward. "Look! It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him!" He plucked the Remembrall from the grass excitedly.

"Give that here, Malfoy," Potter said in what was clearly supposed to be an ominous tone of voice.

Draco smirked at him. "I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find—how about...up a tree?" And then he remounted his broomstick and kicked off.

"Give it _here_!" Potter shouted after him

He grew level with the top branches of an oak tree and turned back to face his classmates. Potter was glaring up at him. "Come and get it, Potter!" he taunted.

Draco was once again almost impressed when Potter grabbed a broom from the ground. _Almost_.

" _No!_ " Hermione shouted. "Madam Hooch told us not to move—you'll get us all into trouble."

Draco glanced down at her; she was looking straight at him. He gulped but turned away from her accusatory stare. And then Potter was in front of him, balancing perfectly on the broom even though he had never ridden one before. Draco's eyes narrowed. How could Potter already be so good?

"Give it here," Potter yelled, "or I'll knock you off that broom!"

Draco sneered at him. "Oh, yeah?"

Potter leaned forward on his broom and shot straight toward him. Draco quickly swerved out of the way, then Potter turned his broom around and faced him again.

"No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy!"

That _prick_. Draco didn't need Crabbe or Goyle to defend him. He was perfectly capable. Stupid twat. "Catch it if you can, then," he shouted at Potter before tossing it as high as he could and streaking back to the ground.

When he landed, he watched jealously as Potter followed the Remembrall toward the ground. He was hoping his arch nemesis would crash, but he pulled up just in time with the glass ball clutched in his hand, then rolled lightly onto the grass.

A few seconds later, a voice rent the air. "HARRY POTTER!"

Draco smirked gleefully. Professor McGonagall was running toward the class, looking murderous.

" _Never_ —in all my time at Hogwarts—" she sputtered. "How _dare_ you—might have broken your neck—"

"It wasn't his fault Professor—" cut in the girl that had told Draco to shut up.

"Be quiet Miss Patil—"

"But Malfoy—" Weasley started.

"That's _enough_ , Mr. Weasley. Potter, follow me. Now." And then McGonagall was striding away, leaving Potter to miserably trot along in her wake.

Draco was practically euphoric for the rest of the lesson, and made his way to dinner quite happily. He loaded up his plate and began eating, but he stopped abruptly when he heard what his housemates were saying. Suddenly he felt rather sick to his stomach. Potter hadn't been punished. He had made the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

That was _it!_ Draco pushed himself to his feet and motioned for Crabbe and Goyle to follow him. He stalked over to the Gryffindor table where Potter was busy being admired by his new fans. He sneered in disgust—and a little bit of jealousy.

"Having a last meal, Potter?" he drawled, even though he already knew the answer. "When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?"

"You're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you," Harry said with a sour look on his face.

Crabbe and Goyle glared at the skinny boy and cracked their knuckles.

"I'd take you on anytime on my own," Draco blurted out. "Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only—no contact." Potter stared at him dumbly. "What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?"

"Of course he has!" Weasley interjected angrily. "I'm his second, who's yours?"

Draco looked at his two bodyguards. Which one was biggest? "Crabbe," he finally decided. "Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked."

He watched with glee as Potter gulped nervously and nodded his head, then turned and strutted from the Great Hall.

"Draco, are we really going to duel Potter and Weasley tonight?" Crabbe asked once they were in the Entrance Hall.

He snorted. "Of course not! We're going to get them in _real_ trouble since flying lessons this afternoon didn't do it. Let's go find Filch." Hopefully by this time tomorrow, Potter really would be leaving Hogwarts for good.


End file.
